


The Color of Compromise

by Vallinthe (Asallia)



Category: Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, BDSM, Chastity Device, Dubious Consent, F/F, Heavy Angst, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, stay tuned for the sequel, vent fic, which is just a gofundme to get these girls therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asallia/pseuds/Vallinthe
Summary: In lieu of love, Dia and You look for solace in each other's pain.





	The Color of Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally part of a larger multi-chapter fic that kind of fell apart once I realized writing nothing but angst might not make for the best storytelling, so now it's a one-off. Two notes: first, You and Dia are both in their early twenties here. Second, BDSM should be a positive experience for both parties with clear consent. This... isn't, so please read at your own discretion.

“Kiss it.”

You stares up from her vulnerable position on the hardwood floor, meeting the icy blue eyes that look down on her in turn. Normally, those eyes hide passion and dreams and care, all tucked away for anyone to find who would look. Not now, though. Now, there’s nothing heartwarming behind that steely gaze.

Not that You minds.

Her face hovers tantalizingly close to the boot placed in front of her, enough to smell the leather and see the dirt that’s accumulated in its folds, but not enough to press her lips to it. Instead, she looks up once more, defiantly.

Right on cue, the other boot swings underneath her and delivers a swift kick in the gut, ripping away what little air had been in her lungs. It’s stolen in an instant, leaving You to gasp and clutch her naked stomach, and she thinks that she’d like to stay here forever.

“That was an order.” There’s no passion behind those words, no satisfaction. They’re controlled and measured, the words of someone simply taking what they can get. Like a business transaction.

You obeys this time, sated enough not to try and act out again. She presses her lips gently against the tip of the boot before making her way upwards, leaving a faint trail of lip gloss where she had been. Her hands wrap around the porcelain skin of the leg attached to it, clutching on tightly as if this moment might be taken away from her as soon as she lets go.

“You’re a disgrace, groveling like that. How do you think all your fans would feel knowing that their favorite idol is this depraved?”

You feels the leather against her mouth, she feels how soaked she’s become underneath her chastity belt, and she nods, her heart sagging and soaring at the same time. She’s disgusted with herself and ashamed that she’s as turned on as she is, but she can’t get enough. The thought that the rest of Aqours will see the bruises at practice tomorrow is as terrifying as it is hot, and You thinks those two emotions might be one and the same in her head.

“Go, sit on the bed for me. I need to prepare.”

“Yes, Mistress,” You dutifully responds. She obeys, grateful to be off of her now-sore hands and knees. The cushion of Dia’s mattress is a blissful respite from the floor, the one creature comfort that she’ll happily allow herself.

“No!” the other woman barks with passion for the first time that night. Having already removed her boots, she circles the bed attentively like a predator closing in on its next meal and unzips the back of her dress at an agonizingly slow pace. “I can tell she’s there, in the back of your mind somewhere. You get that spacey look in your eyes when you think about her,” she sneers. “Call me by my name tonight. I want you to remember who’s giving you what you want.”

You starts to obey, but the words get caught in her throat. She hasn’t used anything but ‘mistress’ in months. These late-night bedroom sessions, so uniform in their intensity, have always been a comfort. You doesn’t like the change, but she fights through the fog anyways.

“I… yes, Dia.” She’s right, after all, though You would never admit it. Not that it matters; Dia undoubtedly has someone else occupying her own desires, and the thought of anyone else quickly evaporates from You’s mind as soon as her Mistress enters her vision clad in naught but black lingerie and grasping a riding crop.

You feels a sharp heat in her core as her entire body anticipates the coming punishment. She deserves it for thinking of someone else. She needs it. She _wants_ it. Her favorite color has always been orange, but she can’t help craving the way black overwhelms her senses.

Maybe that’s why she provokes Dia so brazenly, then, why she asks for those blacks and pitch reds to be painted across her body like a canvas. Somehow, that’s the only thing that seems to bring her comfort anymore. After a day of being the You Watanabe that her friends need her to be, she just wants physical evidence of the loneliness and heartache, something to run her hands over as the insomnia keeps her awake at night.

As Dia approaches, You steels herself. “Is this really what _you_ want, Dia?”

Dia stops at those words, her body locking up as if in defense. With one swift movement, she grasps You’s hair by the scalp and yanks her head up until it meets Dia’s gaze. “Did I tell you to speak?” She barks at You, but there’s a panicked vulnerability to her voice, like she knows where You’s words are aimed and can’t bear what comes next.

“You’re acting like this isn’t just the best you can get, like you wouldn’t rather be the one fucking Mari instead of Kanan- AH!” You gasps in pain as Dia uses her free hand to slap You as hard as she can manage, leaving a bright crimson mark.

“Don’t you _dare_ sully her name with your tongue!” She pauses, visibly collecting herself after her outburst. It’s rare to see her lose her lose her calm – only the invocation of the ghost haunting her is enough to shatter her mask. “You’re nothing compared to Mari-san,” she adds quietly as she experimentally brushes You’s stomach with the leather tip of the crop. The words still seethe, but they’re not an attack – just a statement of the truth she holds in her heart.

You wants to respond and tell Dia that she had stumbled across exactly the point, but her head is spinning and ears ringing, just as she had asked for. That’s enough. She opts to sit quietly in a submission as Dia calmly gathers a bundle of rope and tests the hook attached to the ceiling of her bedroom with a firm tug.

Only after a minute does Dia dare to speak again, now safely retreated back into her prior disaffection. “Remind me. When did you last touch yourself?” She gives a cursory glance to the metal chastity belt that covers You’s pussy, leaving only a slit for urination. If the answer even matters to her, You can’t tell.

The thought alone leaves You squirming and struggling to remember how long she’s been left to fester in her own frustrated arousal. “Three weeks,” she wagers meekly.

“And why is that?” She gestures for You, who knows exactly what Dia is asking for. Within a brief moment she finds herself at heel, kneeling by Dia’s feet once again like a dog. She eyes the soft silk of Dia’s stockings hungrily, but doesn’t dare move to touch them.

“Because I’m nothing,” You replies. There’s no arousal in those words, though – they’re merely the dutiful repetition of a simple fact. A mantra. As if in response, Dia takes both of You’s hands, tying her wrists together in a beautifully intricate shibari knot. You is left to wonder whether Dia has been studying up or if this is just part of being the heiress to an _amimoto_ family.

Regardless, she knows better than to question the loop of rope left loose, especially when Dia guides her up from the ground and lifts her hands in the air, hooking the rope to the ceiling and leaving You suspended with her feet barely kissing the ground. You whimpers, suddenly conscious of how vulnerable she is and how much control Dia has over her, but the point is merely driven home when Dia produces a bullet vibrator from behind her vision and tapes it to the soft inside of You’s thigh, just far enough away from her chastity belt and pussy. Enough to tease and frustrate alone.

Dia hums in dissatisfaction. “This won’t do, will it?” She slides off her panties – black, naturally, thin and lined with lace frills. There’s a small damp spot on them. “Here, enjoy.”

She scrunches them up and stuffs them into You’s mouth. They’re accepted without protest, and You finds herself drooling into them, but that clearly isn’t enough for Dia. She grabs the roll of body tape once again and tears off a large piece, placing it over You’s mouth so that she can’t spit out the panties even if she wanted to.

Now sated, Dia pauses to look You up and down and admire her handiwork. “I enjoy seeing you like this. You look suitably… _pathetic_.” Dia lingers on the last word, as if taste-testing each syllable. “I have a few things that need taking care of before I’m done with you. Stay here and think about the fact that _this_ is what turns you on.”

You moans shamelessly into the panties, begging and pleading with her eyes, but if Dia is wavered in the slightest, she doesn’t reveal it. Instead, she merely sits down at her desk and begins typing some kind of email at her computer, leaving You to nothing but the shame of her own denial and the sound of Dia absently humming snippets of Muse songs.

She tries to count the seconds to distract herself from the sensation of the vibrator pressed against the soft of her thigh, but she loses count quickly and settles for staring at Dia as she works. The situation would almost be meditative if not for Dia’s efforts to keep You dangling at the edge of frustration, limp and suspended in a haze of arousal.

After a few minutes, Dia’s phone vibrates. She gently stops her work and picks it up. After she swipes it on, she lets out a chuckle that sounds hollow at best.

“Chika-san just asked what everyone is up to in the group chat. Just like her, don’t you think?” She looks at You coldly. “She’s so thoughtful and considerate of others. In fact, I bet she’s wondering what you’re up to right now.”

You goes bug-eyed when Dia bends down to pick up her phone where it lies on the floor, swiping it open.

“No lock screen? You need to take better care of your data,” she scolds You sarcastically. “Oh, what do you know, she _did_ message you. She wants to know if you’d like to go see a movie with her and Riko-san.”

You begins shouting in a panic when Dia starts to type a response, but her objections are muffled.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m just making sure she’s aware that you’re indisposed.”

She points the phone’s camera at You, taking an agonizingly long time to line up and take a shot. You is genuinely afraid that Dia might send it. It would be so fucked up and so vicious of a thing to do to her, but at the same time…

Some sick, twisted part of her is getting even more aroused by the thought of her Chika, her precious, wonderful Chika, seeing her like this. All she’s ever wanted has been to be laid bare for the object of her affections, naked and vulnerable and weak. For once in her life, she just wants to stop pretending she’s strong and start showing Chika the truth.

Dia seems to catch on to how wet You is getting and sneers. “You’re really getting turned on by this?” She bends back down, reaching for the riding crop that’s been waiting for its moment. “Do you like the idea of baring yourself like a whore for her?”

She lashes the crop down on You’s bare stomach, leaving a bright red mark where it had impacted across her abs. You moans shamelessly into Dia’s panties from the pain.

Dia looks back to the phone and hovers her thumb just above the screen. “Fine, I’m going to send it. She’ll know how degenerate you are now. Are you satisfied?”

You’s heart stops for a brief moment, in denial that this is actually happening, but panic doesn’t overtake her. She can’t hide who she is now – the thought feels strangely liberating, and she actually finds herself smiling despite her mouth being gagged.

Dia looks only more upset, though. Her thumb moves away from the screen, and she tightens her grasp on the crop instead. “Do you have _any_ shame? She doesn’t love you!” Dia lashes You once again with the crop, then again, but merely grunts in dissatisfaction before dropping it and reaching for a cane leaning against the wall nearby.

Quickly, she returns to You’s punishment, lashing her with even more force now. Each movement is punctuated by a loud whistling as she brings the implement down onto You’s skin, paying careful attention to alternate between the muscular and soft parts of You’s body with precision until You is wailing. At some point Dia knocks the vibrator from You’s thigh, but neither of them notice. “You’re fucking pathetic!” Each word is punctuated by a lash even harder than the last, welts streaked across You’s bare skin. “How could _anyone_ love someone like you?!”

It’s wonderful.

By the time Dia finally calms down and stops, You is left ragged, choking back sobs as she bites down on the panties. She desperately squirms against her restraints, unsatisfied. Somewhere in her heart, You knows that there’s something deeply wrong here. There’s an audible jealousy festering in Dia’s every shout, a desperate desire for herself to be the one tied up and forcibly bared to the world. You can’t help but feel that she’s denying Dia the same thing she’s receiving – the feeling of having someone care enough about her to give her pain, to hurt her and make her feel alive, if only for a fleeting moment.

All along, You has come to realize one thing; Dia isn’t a dominant. This is just the best she can get. She hates herself too much to be honest about what she wants, expects too much of herself to allow herself to wallow in the mire and filth of her desires like You does.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, You thinks that she could do something about that, but she doesn’t want to. She just wants to hurt.

When Dia reaches up to rip the panties out of her mouth, You licks her lips, savoring the taste of salty tears. Her breasts rise and fall with every ragged inhale and exhale as her lungs desperately gasp for air.

“Thank you, Mistress,” she manages to speak, throat hoarse.

Dia gives only a cold expression as she catches her own breath. She drops the cane, and You notices a bright red streak on her hand where she had been gripping it tight. “I told you not to call me that tonight,” she barks.

“I’m sorry,” You meekly replies. She isn’t even sure what she’s really apologizing for - it just feels like something she owes the woman before her.

“You’re _sorry?”_ Dia stalks to the other side of the room, returning with a key that she jams into You’s chastity belt with shaking hands. When the belt falls down You’s bare legs and onto the floor, Dia’s hand instantly moves to grab You’s crotch roughly. Her thumb presses against the lips of You’s pussy, the first time her folds have been touched in what feels like a lifetime.

“You’re this wet, and you’re sorry? You’re just a whore, You-san, all you care about is getting off like some kind of fucking animal.” She coats her fingers in You’s slick and thrusts one inside, ignoring the way that You begins to moan at the heightened sensation. “You like that, huh?” Dia forcefully asks as she adds a second finger. “You want to cum, don’t you? Here,” she spits.

Her fingers pump in and out sloppily, with no care for You’s pleasure. She doesn’t even try to touch You’s clit or provide any other kind of attention. Dia is merely bringing You to a climax as quickly as possible, yet the brutally utilitarian nature of her movements only serves to stoke the fires of You’s arousal as she dangles helplessly before Dia.

You moans shamelessly as Dia continues to thrust into her. “More, more, more, please…” Dia’s movements somehow become even more ragged, leaving You groaning salaciously as she’s brought to a hasty climax. “So… so close…” The words drip from her mouth almost automatically, the haze of her relief clouding every sober thought. All she wants is to cum, to have some kind of cathartic release before she would inevitably be locked back up again.

As she feels that climax approaching, like the crest of a horizon, her sounds get louder, more desperate. Halfway to a scream, she moans out. “God, fuck, harder, Chika-chan!”

Before she can even register that she had spoken what was always meant to be silent, her core suddenly feels empty as Dia’s fingers pull out. It’s too late, though – You just barely crests the peak, which leaves her shaking and shuddering as a dull and muted orgasm sweeps through her body without Dia’s hand guiding it to anything stronger.

You hangs limp for a moment as she tries to ride out what she can of the dull thrum in her body, but with her climax comes cold clarity and the acknowledgement of how pathetic she is, hanging from Dia’s ceiling and having been fucked so impassively. By the time she processes what she had said, she’s too exhausted and ashamed to even be disgusted with herself.

Dia silently unhooks the rope binding her hands and lets them free, but You doesn’t even have the heart to look her in the eyes, even as Dia has to hold her up to prevent her legs from giving out. She leads You to the bed and sets her down at the foot, bringing her a cup of water and a neatly-folded stack of her clothes. You wonders absently when Dia had the time to fold them, why she hadn’t bothered getting off that entire time.

“I’m sorry, Dia-“

“Don’t,” Dia interrupts her. She sits down next to You, looking exhausted. “Just take some time to gather yourself and go home, please. I’ll pay for your cab. Go home, take a bath, take tomorrow’s practice off if you need to.” She exhales slowly and stares at the carpet. “I need to be alone,” she adds under her breath with a quiet whimper. It sounds like a plea more than anything else. You can’t tell if Dia really means that or if it’s her begging You to stay, but she doesn’t have what it takes right now to assume the latter. Dia’s room is cold and sterile – You needs her own space right now, warm and familiar. It’s not aftercare, but it’s something.

As You gathers her things and wills her legs to carry her to the door, she doesn’t say goodnight. She steps over the BDSM tools strewn across the floor and slips out silently, leaving Dia to cradle her head in peace.

-=-=-

That night, as she lies under the covers in her bed, You’s hand finds its way into her pajamas, teasing at her folds and feeling the slick that’s built up yet again. As she buries a knuckle in herself, she moans Chika’s name under her breath. It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. It isn’t her name to whisper, nor is its owner hers to think of pressed close to her.

Yet she says it anyways, treasuring how perfect each syllable feels on her tongue. They taste like oranges, and she hates herself more than anything else in the world for that. She says the name over and over again as she cums, releasing all her heartache in a fit of passion that leaves her exhausted.

She doesn’t even think of Dia as she falls into a deep slumber, a tear streaming down her cheek and dampening the bright orange of the bedsheets below.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes


End file.
